Yesterday I was walking on sunshine. After a long long time, I feel like I’m getting a hold on what has happened in my life and, my darlings, it has been a lot. I’m not asking for compassion. It’s either you are close to me, and as such you’ve already given plenty of your love, […]
Yesterday I was walking on sunshine. After a long long time, I feel like I’m getting a hold on what has happened in my life and, my darlings, it has been a lot.
I’m not asking for compassion.
It’s either you are close to me, and as such you’ve already given plenty of your love, or you’re not close to me, therefore kindness from strangers can’t be requested: it can only be appreciated when it manifests.
I’m simply stating: it’s been a time of supreme shit and I’ve just recently stopped waking up at night with nightmares trying to eat my face or stab me in the back.
Yesterday I was really happy.
I’ve always wanted to do a certain something.
Dad, you should probably sit.
And before you people say anything. Before you even think of something to say. Know this.
When you’re a woman, everybody’s always trying to tell you how to behave with your own body: doctors, colleagues, your parents, relatives, random bystanders. You dress too sexy. You’re not sexy enough. You dress too fancy. You are inappropriate. Keep the baby. Get rid of the baby. Hide your illness. Go home if you’re sick. Have surgery. Take hormones. You’re too aggressive. You should lose weight. You should gain weight. You should cut your hair. Why did you cut your hair. You have the butt of an African (the favorite remark I got from a colleague).
What the actual fuck?
And then there’s a whole level of specific bullshit regarding getting a tattoo. You’ll get bored. It’s unhealthy. It’s for jailbirds. You’re not a sailor. It’s inappropriate. You’ll regret it. It will make you look even more mean and unkind (different colleague, equally hilarious remark, though I didn’t find it that hilarious at the time).
Thing is, I’ve always been partial to beauty: I like beautiful bodies and I like art, I like jewels and I love tattoos on other people. Give me a curvy back covered in koi fishes and I’ll go crazy.
I’ve also pretty much always wanted to get something along the line of a specific tattoo.
It’s the lamedh, twelfth letter of the Semitic alphabet. It’s shape resembles a whip (of course), but it’s sound is really close to the verb lamad, which apparently means to study, to learn. It’s also the only letter in the Jewish alphabet that goes above the others, which obviously is the ultimate goal of knowledge: to elevate yourself. Add the fact that it’s clearly a snake, it becomes the snake of knowledge. How can you not love this symbol?
Besides, it’s the letter L, that has deep sentimental value to me.
You can still see it in the head of what I did.
The rest of the thing is borrowed from the illustration of a Czech artist called Alfons Mucha (you’re probably seen me talking about him in these pages, if you’ve been following me around for long). It’s called “The Emerald” and it’s taking the snake to a brand new level.
There’s also things also from Hygeia by Klimt, a painting that has sentimental value too, since it was central in a role-playing game that cemented some important friendships (Isabelle, I’m looking at you).
The painting was lost in a fire and remains a symbol of how fucked up Nazis were.
Despite always wanting to get a tattoo, I was afraid of getting it this year. Considering the bad moment I was going through, I was afraid that it would stay entangled with these bad memories. My friend Germana (the one I was on vacation with) has quite a few tattoos herself and gave me a wise insight: it’s your body and you decide which meaning you attach to it. It’s true. It should always be true when it comes to anything regarding your body. I seemed to have forgotten about it, along the road. Thanks. ♡
Hence, I went ahead and did it. And of course it’s not a thing of a couple of centimeters: I wouldn’t bother getting out of bed, for a small thing. It’s specifically designed to show even if I’m wearing short sleeves and I can’t stop looking at it, even if I’m in that phase in which you’re wrapped up like a leftover sandwich and you sweat ink and blood like a very nervous squid.
I’m super happy and, if you love me, be happy for me.
And my dearest, dearest friend, at long last, a promise is a promise: this is for you.
Not a year comes by without me missing your sassy laughter.
I have got you, deep in the heart of me
So deep in my heart that you’re really a part of me
I’ve got you under my skin